All Was Well
by HarleyMarie
Summary: The story of Daeron, a Ranger of the North, and his family. Deals with the effects of PTSD and survivor's guilt. Rated T for violence and intense emotional scenes.


**Hey all!**

**I guess that this story is a little bit different than the others, but I think that it'll be a good different. I adore LOTR, so I guess... Well, just go ahead and read it for yourselves and tell me what y'all think. **

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**All Was Well**

**Chapter One: The Dead of Night: Laina**

I wake up with a start when something hits me hard in my ribs. He's doing it again, poor soul. But it's not like he can help it though. Ever since he came back from that stupid orc hunt, nightmares have plagued him almost every night. And how violent they can become...

I turn over and try to light the candle at our bedside, but I clumsily knock the small stand over and onto the floor in the dark. An exasperated noise escapes my lips, something between a sigh and a groan. After groping the floor for a moment, my fingers grasp what I'm looking for. I draw it up and onto the small table beside me, and I finally get the tiny flame to catch onto the wick, but only after several failed attempts. It's golden glow falls over my husband's face, which is dripping with sweat. The grimace he unconsciously wears now sends a shooting pain through my chest. It's not pity that I feel, but sorrow. He's been tortured long enough, but over exactly what though, he's never seemed to see the need to tell me. Maybe it's not that so much as... Perhaps he's never had the heart to.

I sit up and reach over to try and shake him awake. "Daeron," I whisper, "Daeron, wake u-!" Before the words finish coming out of my mouth and before I can lay a finger on his shoulder, my husband springs to life. Not a second later he has me pinned under his massive body. One of his hands latches onto my hair and yanks my head back, while the other grips my throat with crushing force. I instinctively gasp and try to pull his hands away, but seeing as I am a small woman and my husband is three times my size, it is quickly realized that I fight in vain.

I have never feared my husband.

His calloused fingers squeeze my airway closed, and out of desperation I slap, punch, kick, anything, to try to get him to realize what he's doing, but to no avail. I'm running out of options here.

My lungs burn, and my mouth is opened in a silent scream. Hot tears stream down my face.

I am terrified.

I can see his eyes. Burning malice lies behind them. So does crippling fear.

Then, as suddenly as it starts, it's all over. One second he's looming over me- muscles rippling, bare chest gleaming with sweat, dark hair plastered to his neck, jaw clenched-the next, his entire demeanor is changed. A matter of seconds after this whole ordeal starts, he jerks as if awoken from some kind of trance, and instantly his eyes widen with horror. He whips his hands away from me and scrambles backwards off of the bed. His foot catches in a sheet, and it's ripped off the bed as he falls onto his back. He careens into a basket of clothes, crushes it, and sends splinters flying in every direction. He doesn't even notice, and he's on his feet a split second later.

I see all of this out of the corner of my eye as I gasp for air. I am on my side with one arm underneath me and the other clutching my throbbing neck. I catch my breath easily enough, considering, and look back at my husband. My gentle, loving, adoring husband, who tried to kill me.

I manage to sit up, my eyes on him. My breathing is ragged and my body shakes as I pull my knees to my chest, but my nightclothes hide my tremors.

What I see across the room nearly sends me over the edge.

Daeron is shaking like a leaf, so much so that he can no longer stand. Instead, he falls against the wall and sinks to the floor like a stone. His eyes, normally gray as starlight, are now red and filled with tears that fall freely from his dark lashes, roll onto his cheeks, and splash against his chest to mingle with the streams of sweat that run down in rivulets toward his stomach. His hands shiver uncontrollably as he tries to run his fingers through his hair, but unable to even accomplish this simple task, he lets his arms fall to the floor.

This mountain of a man, this Ranger of the North, a man born of a line of kings, has been reduced to a helpless puddle of emotion, the likes of which I have never seen in anyone, much less him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and onto the floor. I steady myself before I rise to my feet, but once I do, I don't know what to do. So I stand there, numb and at a loss as to what just happened. I stare at him, he stares at me.

After what feels like an eternity, Daeron opens his mouth to speak, yet nothing escapes his lips. He tries again, this time getting a broken word out, something that resembles my name.

"L...l...ai..."

I absentmindedly bring my hand up to my abdomen, which has become increasingly swollen over the past few weeks. As soon as Daeron sees my hand move, he breaks down into silent, gut-wrenching sobs. His head falls into his shaking hands, and he whimpers quietly with each breath.

I can't take it anymore, seeing him like this, so I tell myself to go to him. It's only a few feet, but it may as well be a hundred miles that lies between us now.

But don't each of these journeys begin with a single step?

With leaden feet, I take that monumental first step toward my broken husband. I don't know how long it will take for me to make this journey, so I count the time to the sound of my bare feet quietly padding the floor.

Before I even realize it, here I am, standing before my man. A wave of sorrow crashes over my body, and I feel fresh tears gather in my eyes. My vision blurs, and my throat catches in a knot. I can't breathe. My hands go all clammy, and my head throbs with each pounding heartbeat. I am frozen in time like this for only a moment, and then I drop to my knees and wrap my arms around Daeron's neck. He doesn't hesitate in engulfing me in his own thick, burly arms, pulling my thin body against his own. I bury my head in the curve of his neck, and I cry silently into his hair. The rhythmic shaking of his body with each breath makes me grasp him all the tighter, and he whispers in my ear over and over again in Elvish, "Goheno nin, goheno nin," Forgive me, forgive me. I'm taken aback by his use of his childhood tongue for a second, since he hasn't uttered a word in it since... Since that hunt that started this whole fiasco. I'm out of practice, so I reply in the common tongue, "I already have." It's the truth. I love my husband, how could I not forgive him?

Daeron whispers one last thing into my ear, my hair catching in his closely-cropped beard with each movement of his lips, and my heart breaks with the words. "Edraith enni." Save me.

Oh my love, if only I knew how.

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**This is a sort of experiment, so I need feedback on this. If my plan works, this story will be told from multiple points of view, announced at the start of each chapter. Multiple views, multiple story lines, multiple layers of plot. More fun for all of us! So if you don't mind, shoot me a quick review on this whole idea, and maybe give me a couple of ideas of just where this could go.**

**Thanks a ton!**

**HarleyMarie**


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